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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117485">Getting By, With A Little Help</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolapola/pseuds/Lolapola'>Lolapola</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But sympathetically written I hope, Dad!Gil Feels, Disordered Eating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Food Issues, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-graphic descriptions of trauma, Not-a-great-parent!Jessica</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:13:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117485</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolapola/pseuds/Lolapola</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm's mind is its own worst enemy sometimes - a lot of the time, and in many different ways - and that can be the toughest battle. Fortunately, Gil is not about to let him struggle alone. </p><p>A look at Malcolm's relationship with eating and his relationship with Gil over the years.</p><p>TW for descriptions of disordered eating (see A/N for more details).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo &amp; Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Malcolm Bright &amp; The Team (brief mentions)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Getting By, With A Little Help</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This entire fic basically came from that one line in the pilot where Malcolm says, "Most food makes me sick," and my entire brain went "!!SAME HAT!!" lol</p><p>Basically, although I don't always <i>feel</i> stressed, I do tend to suddenly feel nauseous and lose my appetite any time stressful things are happening, which has led to some pretty disordered eating behaviour when I'm not feeling great. Although I've only made this connection recently, looking back I can remember exhibiting this behaviour throughout my childhood. </p><p>The reason this is relevant is because when Malcolm said that line in the pilot, it made me wonder when and how food made him sick, what kind of foods he could tolerate at his worst moments, and how the people around him reacted. And I used my own experiences and memories to describe how I think he would behave, so this fic goes into quite a bit of detail. Nothing too graphic, but if you have any problems with disordered eating, please read with caution. Even thinking about it in so much detail to write this made me feel a bit weird, so please look after yourselves! And if there are any tags you can think of I should add, please let me know.</p><p>As a kind of antidote to this, I've written in Gil the kind of adult who I loved having around as a kid, or who I wished was around, who actually helped and tried to understand rather than assumed I was being fussy. </p><p>Hope you guys enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>
    <b>1999</b>
  </i>
</p><p>Gil waited, a little awkwardly, in the lavish hallway of the Whitly family home. If someone had told him two years ago that he would arrest The Surgeon himself and then still be visiting the family a year later of his own volition, he would’ve laughed in their face. But here he was. Because if a colleague or a friend had saved his life and then entered their own personal hell, you could be damned sure he wouldn’t leave their side. And this was a <i>kid</i>. No matter how strange or unprofessional Gil sometimes worried his behaviour might seem, he wasn’t about to let him go through this alone. That was the only thing he was ever sure of about the Whitlys.</p><p>The thing is, if his presence had ever seemed unwanted, Gil maybe would’ve rethought things. Thought about ways he could support Malcolm without inserting himself into his life. But from the first time he’d ‘dropped in’ with some excuse about being in the neighbourhood, he hadn’t been able to forget the way Malcolm’s eyes had lit up, the way he’d bolted off his seat and wrapped his skinny arms around Gil’s waist, the way Jessica had nearly been brought to tears at the sight of her son’s smile. That was one of the things Gil loved about kids – you knew how they felt. Whether they were happy or angry or sad, you could read it in their face in one glance. If Malcolm had been an adult Gil would’ve had to look for clues or ask outright, but in this case he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Malcolm wanted him around. And as long as that was what Malcolm wanted, Gil would be there.</p><p>Gil heard, somewhere off in the house, the low murmured tones of the butler who had let him in (did people still have butlers? The butler or personal assistant or au pair, Gil could never tell, and it didn’t seem polite to ask), and then, much louder, the ringing voice of Jessica Whitly.</p><p>“Oh – is it Gil? Of course it’s Gil - for God’s sake, let him in, let him in -”</p><p>The voice was joined by the brisk clipping of heels on marble floors, and Jessica swept into the room, clearly too impatient to allow Gil to be brought to her by someone else.</p><p>“Gil! Thank God you’re here – will you <i>please</i> come and talk to Malcolm -”</p><p>She kissed him airily on the cheek, something she always did that made him feel both uncomfortable and delighted, and then turned on her heel to march back the way she’d come, leaving Gil to hurry after her.</p><p>“Malcolm?” he asked, a little alarmed, “Is he alright?”</p><p>“Oh yes, yes, of course,” she said, waving a hand casually. Her expression was one Gil was extremely used to seeing on her – a forced nonchalance, determined to pretend that she had everything under control, combined with a constant low level anxiety that threatened to spill into hysteria if the need arose, combined with a medicated detachment from everything around her. “Just having another one of his, um – another one of his <i>moods</i>.”</p><p>Gil walked a little faster. He had come to care for Jessica a lot, and he would never admit it under pain of death, but he couldn’t quite trust her when it came to Malcolm. Depending on her mood, she would often either dangerously underplay whatever was happening with her son or react with so much melodrama that both of them would become completely inconsolable over the smallest of problems. It was another reason Gil kept visiting. Jessica was trying to march onwards with her parenting whilst completely alone and traumatised, and it was both unfair to her and dangerous to her children. It wasn’t his place to talk her into asking for help, and he suspected she didn’t have anyone to ask except for the people who worked for her, who were all too scared of her to step in if things got out of hand. Gil hoped his weekly visits were a little dose of sanity into this household, and it allowed him to keep an eye on things.</p><p>“His moods?” he asked.</p><p>“Oh, you know,” Jessica sighed, with a vague smile that went nowhere near her eyes. “You know how he can be.”</p><p>They entered the dining room, and Gil’s heart twisted at the small hunched figure sitting alone at the end of a long table. There was no sign of Ainsley, but she spent a lot of time with her nanny these days. Privately, Gil felt like that might be good for her, and he suspected Jessica felt the same way.</p><p>“Look who’s here, darling,” Jessica said to her son, her tone spiky with barely concealed irritation, “Gil’s come to see you! Maybe now you’ll stop being so silly!”</p><p>Malcolm’s eyes lifted, a spark of life coming into them when he saw Gil, but almost immediately they drifted back down to the table. Jessica sighed dramatically from beside Gil, throwing her hands into the air.</p><p>“He won’t eat his dinner,” she said – to Gil, but with a loud, pointed tone. “See if you can talk to him. Frankly, I’m exhausted by this entire thing.”</p><p>Without giving him a chance to respond, she swept from the room, slamming the door behind her. Gil winced, and then looked back at Malcolm, trying to smile as genuinely as he could.</p><p>“Wow,” Gil said, going for light, trying to lift the tension that had settled over the room. “Your mom’s not in a good mood, huh?”</p><p>Malcolm didn’t move.</p><p>Gil took a deep breath and walked down the room to take a seat next to him, trying to radiate calmness and reassurance. Malcolm was shifting in his seat, his hands jammed under his legs, looking anywhere but at his plate of food or at Gil. His gaze flicked over the table, the paintings in the room, the clock, the liquor cabinet, the floor, then back to the table.</p><p>Gil watched him for a moment, planning his words carefully.</p><p>After the arrest, Malcolm hadn’t said a lot. He wouldn’t often speak of his own volition, but you could get one word answers out of him, and if you asked him about something he was interested in, and he felt safe, you could get a few sentences. After that bullshit unethical-as-hell ‘interrogation’ courtesy of Detective Shannon, he’d been even worse, but he still spoke most days. Leading up to the trial, it dwindled to one or two monosyllabic words per day. Then, at the trial, he’d got up when the lawyer had asked him to and talked. More than Gil ever remembered him talking at once. Like he knew what he had to do and why. Knowing Malcolm, he probably did.</p><p>Gil remembered looking at that tiny figure, dwarfed by the courtroom and the people around him – the bailiff had had to get a box for him so that he could see over the stand – and feeling like he’d never been more proud in his life.</p><p>Then he’d got down, and said nothing else that day. Or the next day. Or the next. Shock, his psychologist said. Grief. Trauma. Fear. Give him time.</p><p>Jessica had given him time, then given him speech therapists and specialists, and then she’d begged and coaxed and threatened and bribed. Then she’d given up.</p><p>Gil quietly believed that the kid would talk when he was ready, and until then he was happy to do enough talking for both of them.</p><p>“What’s the matter, kid? You not hungry?”</p><p>Malcolm lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, now gazing fixedly at the table, picking at a piece of splintering wood.</p><p>Gil looked at the bowl of food, thinking. It didn’t look like anything too fancy, just some pasta with pesto, but it looked like it had barely been touched. He knew Malcolm didn’t eat a lot, but he <i>had</i> to be hungry.</p><p>Okay, then. He didn’t have kids, sure, but his sisters did. He’d seen his mom babysit the neighbour’s kids when he was a teenager. He knew some techniques.</p><p>“Okay, how about this,” Gil said, trying to keep his tone light still. “How about you have ten mouthfuls? Just ten.”</p><p>Malcolm didn’t outwardly react, but Gil could see his jaw clenching, the finger scratching at the wood picking up speed a little.</p><p>“Too much?” Gil asked gently. “Okay, then – five mouthfuls. Five mouthfuls, in your own time, then we go do something else. Something fun.”</p><p>Malcolm didn’t move for a second – then his hand slowly went to his fork, and Gil beamed.</p><p>“Good kid,” he said, not missing the way Malcolm’s mouth twitched upwards at the praise.</p><p>Malcolm brought the fork up to his mouth, hesitated momentarily, then shoved the food in. He chewed determinedly, staring at his glass of water, before putting the fork down and taking a drink. Then he picked up the fork again, taking another mouthful, before putting it down again and taking another swig of water before he’d even finished chewing.</p><p>Gil had leant back, trying not to put the kid under any pressure, but he watched curiously out the corner of his eye. It seemed like a fairly labour-intensive way of going about eating.</p><p>Then, as Malcolm put the third forkful of food into his mouth, he saw it – a tiny, hidden gag as he chewed, then another as he practically threw his fork down and reached a shaking hand out for his glass. Gil stared as Malcolm drank, then reached again for his fork.</p><p>“Wait, wait – stop -” Gil placed his hand over Malcolm’s, stopping the movement short. “Are you – kid, does the food make you feel sick?”</p><p>Malcolm watched him warily for a moment, then gave a short nod.</p><p>Gil repressed a sigh, not wanting to make him think he was angry.</p><p>“Malcolm,” he said carefully, “you don’t have to eat if it makes you feel sick.”</p><p>Malcolm’s eyes flicked to his in surprise, then back down again.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Gil said, “We don’t want you to be hungry, but if you feel sick and you don’t want to eat, that’s okay.”</p><p>Malcolm slowly relinquished his fork, then jammed his hand back under his leg.</p><p>“So, do you feel sick because of the food, or have you been feeling sick all day?”</p><p>Another half-shrug. Okay then. Gil had spent the last four months playing 20 questions with this kid. He could work with this.</p><p>“Are you hungry at all?” Gil tried again.</p><p>There was a pause. Then a slow nod.</p><p>“You’re hungry, but you don’t wanna eat this food?”</p><p>Another nod, more sure this time. Gil smiled.</p><p>“Okay. That’s okay. What <i>do</i> you wanna eat?”</p><p>Malcolm thought for a moment, then shrugged again. Gil nodded thoughtfully.</p><p>“That’s okay too. I don’t always know what I want to eat when I don’t feel well.”</p><p>He hummed to himself, thinking.</p><p>“Okay. How about we go out, get some fresh air, and we’ll go to a store and you can show me?”</p><p>There was another pause, then Malcolm’s mouth ticked up in a slow smile. Gil smiled back, delighted. It wasn’t always so easy to unpick Malcolm’s distress.</p><p>“Come on,” he said, standing, and Malcolm jumped off his chair to follow him out the room.</p><p>The butler met them in the corridor, looking a little alarmed.</p><p>“Detective Arroyo – are you -”</p><p>“We’re just gonna go out and get some air,” Gil said smoothly. “Only for an hour or so. I’ll bring him back before his bedtime.”</p><p>The butler frowned, but nodded. “Let me just – I’ll go and ask Mrs. Whitly if that’s okay.”</p><p>Gil forced himself to nod back. That made sense, he told himself. <i>Malcolm is not your kid</i>, said a voice in his head that sounded a lot like his mother. <i>You can’t just expect to do what you want with him.</i></p><p>He forced himself to smile reassuringly at Malcolm, who was looking up at him anxiously as the butler hurried away.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he said. “Of course he’s gotta go ask your mom! You wouldn’t want her to worry about where you were, would you?”</p><p>Malcolm bit his lip and nodded reluctantly, looking down again, but he leaned slightly against Gil’s leg, and Gil squeezed his shoulder.</p><p>They didn’t have to wait long.</p><p>The butler reappeared in the hallway, his face a mask of professionalism.</p><p>“Mrs. Whitly has fallen asleep, unfortunately. But she’s expressed her trust for you before, and I can’t see any reason she’d say no. Please have him home by 8.”</p><p>Gil smiled tightly. He could read between the lines. He was a cop, and he could see the human beneath the employee. Mrs. Whitly is unconscious. Please look after this child.</p><p>“Of course,” he said, and tried to relax his face when he smiled down at Malcolm. “See? Let’s go for a drive.”</p><p>Malcolm beamed.</p><p>45 minutes later, Gil and Malcolm were sitting on the hood of Gil’s car in a quiet parking lot by the river, looking out onto the lights of the city. Gil hefted the grocery bag at their feet onto his lap and rummaged through the mix of things he’d picked out and things Malcolm had hesitantly pointed to in the aisle. Gil smiled a little at the memory of Malcolm’s awestruck expression at the shelves and shelves of food, his eyes wide like saucers – he’d put money on the kid having never been in a grocery store before.</p><p>“Okay, what’ve we got here…” Gil muttered, “What do we feel like, kid?”</p><p>One by one, he pulled each item out of the bag and either put it back or placed it on the hood beside them based on careful nods or shakes of the head from Malcolm. By the end, they had a little pile of crackers, plain cookies, jello, and some grapes.</p><p>“What first?” asked Gil, and Malcolm pointed to the jello, with more confidence this time. Gil smiled and squeezed his shoulder gently.</p><p>“Alright. Jello it is,” he said, picking out one for himself. He suspected if he ate too, Malcolm would feel a little less under pressure. “What flavour?”</p><p>It was a rhetorical question, just spoken out of habit as he reached out to pick up one of each flavour and hold them up for Malcolm to point at, but his hand stilled as a soft voice from beside him spoke up:</p><p>“Lemon.”</p><p>Gil forced himself to tamp down the giant smile that was making its way to his face, to not give away how hard his heart was pounding at one little word. Maybe if he didn’t make it a big deal, he figured, it wouldn’t <i>be</i> a big deal.</p><p>“Alright,” he said, in as casual a tone as possible, “Lemon for you, strawberry for me.”</p><p>He allowed himself to ruffle Malcolm’s hair and smile down at him, and felt his heart soar when Malcolm batted his hand away and huffed a laugh, like a normal kid.</p><p>Gil had never really cared for jello, to be honest, but that night it tasted like the best meal he’d ever had.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <i>
    <b>2003</b>
  </i>
</p><p>The second Gil set foot in his apartment, like always, he felt every muscle in his start to relax. The combination of the warmth and the smell and the knowledge that he was about to see his wife made any stresses left over from his day melt off him like the snow on his coat.</p><p>“Jackie?” he called, wiping his slushy shoes off on the mat.</p><p>“In here!” she answered from the kitchen, and he smiled to himself. Even her voice made him feel calmer.</p><p>“Hey,” he said as he walked into the kitchen, and Jackie stopped what she was doing long enough to kiss him in greeting.</p><p>“Hey,” she replied, smiling her warm smile that still gave him butterflies, “You’re back early, how was work?”</p><p>Gil waved a hand dismissively, looking around at the chaos in the kitchen with surprise. “You know how it is - no open cases at the moment, just paperwork, so they let everyone who’s on call over Christmas go home early. What’s – are you <i>cooking</i>?”</p><p>The past few weeks had been such a blur of gift buying, card writing, party planning, food shopping and relative visiting, on top of their chaotic work schedules, that Gil didn’t remember the last time either one of them had made the time to cook anything more elaborate than a grilled cheese.</p><p>Jackie gave him an exasperated look, amusement dancing in her eyes.</p><p>“Have you forgotten what day it is?”</p><p>Gil stared blankly. “Saturday?”</p><p>Jackie rolled her eyes. “The last Saturday before Christmas?” she hinted, and laughed when his eyes widened in realisation.</p><p>“Oh!”</p><p>“Yep. He’ll be here any minute.”</p><p>Gil glanced at the clock and felt a jolt of excitement, followed by sadness, and when he looked at Jackie he saw the same bittersweet feeling mirrored in her expression.</p><p>Every year, like clockwork, Malcolm came home from boarding school on the Friday before Christmas. Going a little off of what he told them and a little more off of what they could read between the lines, he and Jessica would be delighted to see each other for a few hours, before starting to bicker later on. Every year, he would spend Saturday morning playing with Ainsley, bickering more and more with his mother as the day went on, until the afternoon when it would erupt into all out fighting. He would put up with it for a few more hours, then flee the house, walking a block and then taking a cab so Jessica couldn’t make Adolfo find him and bring him back. And every year, like clockwork, he would turn up at Gil and Jackie’s at 4.15 on the dot, apologising for dropping in unannounced like they weren’t expecting him.</p><p>Gil couldn’t lie to himself – he loved seeing the kid. He just wished Malcolm was happy – well, anywhere, really, anywhere else as well as at Gil and Jackie’s apartment. He wished Jessica hadn’t sent him to boarding school. He wished he could keep the kid with him for the entire holidays. He wished that Malcolm got to enjoy anything that other kids enjoyed, that even goddamn Christmas wouldn’t be hard for him.</p><p>Jackie smiled at him sadly, reading his thoughts on his face. She didn’t have to say anything. He knew she felt the same.</p><p>“Come over here and help me, will you? Stir that – and taste it, make sure it’s okay -”</p><p>Jackie jabbed the wooden spoon she was wielding towards his face, and Gil took a taste and hummed appreciatively, before laughing. “Okay, so it’s delicious, obviously, but as a heads up for next time, if I hadn’t remembered who was coming, just let me taste the food – honestly, there is <i>no one</i> else we know that you tone down your chilli for as much as you do for him -”</p><p>Jackie threw back her head and laughed as she gathered the rest of the food on the dining table.</p><p>“He’s the only one that I’ll – <i>listen</i> -” she said, raising her voice to be heard over Gil’s laughter and whacking him with her towel, “- he’s the <i>only one</i> I’ll compromise my values for -”</p><p>“You spoil him!”</p><p>“Oh, what am I gonna do, risk him not liking it? You think I’ll send that poor skinny boy away hungry because I’m precious about my abuela’s recipe? You think I’m heartless, Gil -”</p><p>The buzzer went, and they both turned to look at the clock. 4.15.</p><p>Jackie grinned at him. “Like clockwork,” she said, and threw down her towel to go and answer the door. Gil took the opportunity to steal another mouthful of chilli and smiled to himself as he listened to the familiar happy exclamations from his wife, and the slightly more subdued but equally happy voice of Malcolm Whitly.</p><p>“Sorry to just turn up, I should’ve called -”</p><p>“Honey, don’t be ridiculous, you know you can come by any time – and what are you doing, ringing the doorbell like a stranger, where’s your key – go on in, go into the kitchen and warm up -”</p><p>When Malcolm appeared in the doorway, Gil swore for a second he looked 10 years old again. Eyes all lit up even as he tried to tamp it down under a veneer of teen coolness.</p><p>“Hey city boy,” Gil said.</p><p>“Hey Gil,” Malcolm answered, his wide smile mirroring Gil’s. With only a touch more self-restraint than his ten year old self, he rushed forward to wrap his arms around Gil and cling on for dear life. Gil allowed himself a gruff kiss to the top of Malcolm’s head, pointedly ignoring Jackie who was smirking to herself as she wordlessly continued to prepare dinner around them. When Malcolm eventually pulled back with some reluctance, Gil bent down to meet his gaze, squeezing the back of Malcom’s neck gently.</p><p>“How are you, kid?” he said in a low voice, although he wasn’t really listening to the answer as much as he was looking. Was it him, or did Malcolm seem paler? A little thinner? Were the circles under his eyes darker? It was so hard to tell when Gil never <i>saw</i> him –</p><p>Malcolm rolled his eyes suddenly, stepping away a little.</p><p>“Will you stop – psychically worrying at me?”</p><p>“Don’t bother, honey, he worries about everything,” commented Jackie from behind them, although there was a warning tone in her voice. Aimed at Gil, not Malcolm. <i>Don’t crowd him</i>, that meant.</p><p>Gil forced himself to smile.</p><p>“Sorry. Force of habit. I missed you, kid.”</p><p>Malcolm ducked his head to hide his smile, relaxing again. “Yeah. You guys too.”</p><p>“Are you hungry?” asked Jackie, as if she wasn’t already plating up a banquet on the table. “Come on, sit down, Gil will get you a drink, tell us <i>everything</i> about your semester -”</p><p>Malcolm sat, because Jackie wasn’t a person you argued with, but eyed the clock as he did so, frowning a little.</p><p>“This looks amazing, but - isn’t it a little early for dinner?”</p><p>Jackie waved a hand casually. “Oh, don’t worry about that, neither of us had lunch, and we can always have leftovers later if we get hungry. Did <i>you</i> eat lunch?” she added, suddenly pinning Malcolm down with a stern stare that made Gil grin to himself as filled a pitcher. It was nice to see someone else on the end of that look for once.</p><p>When Malcolm hesitated and then shook his head sheepishly, Jackie beamed. “Well then! It’s perfect for all of us!”</p><p>“That’s, um…” Malcolm glanced at the spread of food on the table, too much for two people, before looking back at Jackie with a knowing smile. “…hard to argue with.”</p><p>Gil snorted as Jackie cuffed the back of Malcolm's head playfully, but something in his expression gave him pause. Something had been off in his face, only for a second before he’d smiled. Not long enough for Gil to clearly identify.</p><p>He tried to shake the uneasy feeling as they all sat down, wanting to give the kid some privacy. God knew he probably didn’t get it anywhere else.</p><p>At their request, Malcolm gave them a detailed account of the last semester, telling them about field trips and his classes and the fancy sports he’d played and the books he’d read. There was no mention of friends, or even passing acquaintances, Gil noticed, with a touch of sadness. At one point someone named Vijay had started to work his way into Malcolm’s stories, with increasing regularity and fondness, and then was abruptly never mentioned again, like he’d never existed at all. Gil knew enough about teenagers and enough about Malcolm to not ask any questions about that.</p><p>He almost forgot about the strange feeling he’d had before as dinner went on, reveling in the happiness and rare peace that having Malcolm safe and relatively well in their apartment again brought him. He saw the same feeling in Jackie’s face every time he glanced at her.</p><p>It wasn’t until he and Jackie were finishing their meals and he looked over to see Malcolm’s still mostly untouched that he remembered, and also suddenly <i>understood</i>.</p><p>He heaved a heavy internal sigh. Christ, but this kid was getting harder and harder to read as he got older. It made him worry that one day he wouldn’t be able to tell what was going on with him at all.</p><p>He watched for a few minutes as Malcolm expertly pushed the food around his plate in a way that looked productive, every now and then lifting a mouthful to his lips before suddenly ‘remembering’ something else he had to tell them and putting it down again. He took just enough actual bites to be convincing, but they were few and far between, his body language fidgety and his hands messing with his hair and his clothes as he chewed. Gil could see his throat working overtime as he swallowed his food with enough determination that it stayed down.</p><p>There was a lull in the conversation and Jackie stood, clearing hers and Gil’s plates. She would never normally start tidying while their guest was still eating, Gil knew, but she must have seen something in one or both of their faces that told her they needed space. As he did most days, Gil said a small prayer of thanks for his wife’s seemingly limitless people skills.</p><p>Jackie put the plates on the sideboard and kissed them both fondly on the head as she headed out of the room.</p><p>“You take your time, Malcolm, honey. I’m just gonna go find some blankets and set up the TV.”</p><p>“Thank you, Jackie.”</p><p>“Thanks, sweetheart.”</p><p>Gil felt slightly better seeing the genuine smile on Malcolm’s face at the prospect of their annual tradition. Every year, after they’d caught up with Malcolm’s news, the three of them would build a nest of blankets on the couch and watch TV – usually one of those 70s buddy cop shows that Malcolm and Jackie loved, if they were on, but if not they would usually find something that they could all agree on. Or they would happily bicker about what they <i>could</i> find. It was one of Gil’s favourite parts of the holidays, and he was pretty sure it was Malcolm’s too.</p><p>“It’s good to see you, kid,” Gil said, standing to make the coffee. Decaf, obviously, but Jackie always wanted something hot to drink at their Christmas slumber party and Malcolm hated cocoa.</p><p>Malcolm ducked his head a little, stirring the food round his plate again. “You too,” he said quietly.</p><p>Gil watched out of the corner of his eye, debating his next move. He hated putting him on the spot, but they’d been here enough times to know that the situation wasn’t going to improve by itself any time soon.</p><p>“You okay?” he asked lightly.</p><p>“Yeah! Yeah, of course.”</p><p>Gil sat down again as the coffee machine stuttered to life behind him.</p><p>“Malcolm.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he insisted, but his eyes were beginning to dart around the room a little desperately.</p><p>“We talked about this,” Gil said gently, trying not to use his serious cop voice. Malcolm’s gaze dropped to the table, his mouth clamped shut.</p><p>“You gotta tell us if you’re not feeling good. I promise we won’t ask questions or baby you, but we can’t help at all if we don’t know, you know?”</p><p>Malcolm nodded minutely, still not looking up. “I know.”</p><p>Gil hesitated, then nodded at the plate. “So. You don’t want that?”</p><p>There was a pause. Malcolm bit his lip, looking at the food for the first time in several minutes, his face miserable. “Jackie cooked,” he said, in an almost-whisper.</p><p>“She did,” Gil said, as nonchalantly as he could manage. “And she knows you appreciated it. And it’s not going anywhere – it’ll make just as good a meal for us tomorrow. Don’t worry about it, okay?”</p><p>That felt a little futile, knowing that he absolutely would, but Malcolm finally nodded in acquiescence. Gil took the plate, scraping the food off it into a Tupperware. When he looked back, Malcolm still looked upset, but he had also visibly relaxed. Gil suppressed another sigh, wishing he could appease the kid as easily as he could when he was 11.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, “Come help me make the coffee? Jackie always says she likes the way you make it better.”</p><p>Malcolm’s eyes narrowed, letting Gil know he wasn’t fooled for a second, but he stood and came over.</p><p>"You don't let it brew long enough," he muttered. "You gotta be patient."</p><p>"Oh, god forbid," Gil answered dryly. "Please teach me, I've always wanted to learn about the values of patience from <i>Malcolm Whitly</i>."</p><p>Malcolm didn't dignify that with an answer, but Gil caught the lightning-quick grin that comment caused and smiled to himself.</p><p>As Malcolm prepared the drinks, Gil rummaged around in the cupboards, finding the stores of things he kept for when Malcolm was home. A packet of liquorice, some rice cakes, a few slices of ham from the fridge.</p><p>“Gil -” Malcolm started to protest, when he saw what Gil was gathering. “I don’t need -”</p><p>“Who says it’s for you?” Gil interrupted, and Malcolm scowled, going back to stirring the coffee. That was fine. Gil would take an irritated Malcolm over an upset Malcolm.</p><p>“Are you guys ready?” Jackie called from the other room.</p><p>“Coming!” Gil answered, dumping his findings in a large bowl. “You good to go?”</p><p>Malcolm sighed, but it sounded like it was more for dramatic effect than anything else.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said, and picked up two of the mugs. Gil took the third and led him through to the living room.</p><p>“Oh, you brought snacks!” Jackie cheered when Gil put the bowl down on the coffee table, as if the random assortment of sweet and savoury food in there was standard movie fare, and Gil thanked every deity imaginable yet again for her. It made Malcolm smile, anyway, and as they settled down beside her in the nest of blankets and fought over the remote, his smile grew and the shadows in his eyes receded, just a little bit. And like he did every year, Gil felt lucky as hell that they got this. Lucky that he had it, and lucky that he could share it with someone that needed it. That was about as Christmassy as it got, wasn’t it?</p>
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  <i>
    <b>2019</b>
  </i>
</p><p>Gil really tried to lay off, these days. He really tried to keep his nose out of it. Malcolm was a grown ass man now, and he’d lived without Gil nagging him every day to eat and sleep properly for years. It really wasn’t any of his business. Not anymore.</p><p>Still. He noticed things. How could he not? Malcolm’s pale, drawn face. The glimpses of an empty fridge. The breezy comments to the others about his unhealthy lifestyle, like it didn’t matter.</p><p>But between his father worming his way back into his life, and his mother’s worry leading to her tightening her control over him, and his mind doing basically whatever the hell it wanted, Gil figured Malcolm had enough issues with autonomy these days. All he could do was keep an eye on things and promise himself that he would step in if he ever felt like Malcolm was in real danger. Even if, deep down, he felt like Malcolm was <i>always</i> in real danger. He watched Malcolm keep Ainsley at arm’s length and ignore his mother’s calls, and reminded himself that that could be him if he wasn’t careful.</p><p>The best thing he could do for him, Gil reasoned with himself, was <i>trust</i> him. Treat him like an adult with mental capacity, which he was.</p><p>And that decision didn’t stop him from looking out for him. Keeping a bag of liquorice in his car that he knew Malcolm would snack on whenever he could. Watch out for days when Malcolm looked more shaky and tired than usual, when he recoiled from the smell of the old Chinese takeout containers in the conference room, and have boxes of crackers and energy bars stored in his office that he could throw at him whenever the kid looked ready to pass out.</p><p>Malcolm noticed, obviously. He rolled his eyes and made comments that Gil ignored, and then he took the damn food because he knew Gil wouldn’t force it on him.</p><p>Gil expected all of that.</p><p>What he didn’t expect was the way his team caught on.</p><p>And sure, they were detectives, they noticed details and put together puzzle pieces for a living, but that didn’t mean they had to do anything about it. They could’ve easily looked the other way, let Malcolm struggle alone.</p><p>But that wasn’t the type of person Gil hired.</p><p>Predictably, it was Edrisa that started first. A constantly refilling bowl of cookies appeared on her desk down in the morgue, and with her usual flying-brick-subtlety she offered it to Malcolm – and then, a little begrudgingly, the rest of them – any time they were anywhere even vaguely near her office. The first time, Malcolm had shot a slightly suspicious look at Gil, who could only shrug. From then on, he accepted a cookie graciously every time, with the usual bemused but fond smile he seemed to reserve for her and a gentle, “Thank you, Doctor Tanaka.”</p><p>Dani was next. A pot of lemon jello or two would appear on the desk that Malcolm used almost weekly. She tended to wave it off with a vague excuse about stealing one while she was questioning a witness in hospital or accidentally buying too many for herself, followed by a glare that threatened retribution if anyone asked too many questions. Gil didn’t miss the way Malcolm’s face lit up every time he saw one waiting for him, and he suspected neither did Dani. Not that she would ever admit it.</p><p>And he knew it had officially become A Thing when JT – <i>JT</i> – came back from a coffee run one day with a couple of packets of beef jerky, and threw them wordlessly in Malcom’s direction.</p><p>When Malcolm just gaped back at him, the packets clutched to his chest where he'd caught them, JT scowled furiously.</p><p>“Don’t make it weird, man,” he said. “I just thought – you looked – I don’t know, whiter than usual. Look, just eat it. Or don’t, whatever.”</p><p>He stalked off then, most likely out of embarrassment, so Gil was pretty sure only he heard Malcolm’s quiet, “Thanks.”</p><p>Gil turned away to hide his smile.</p><p><i>Good</i>, he thought, feeling oddly triumphant. <i>I’d like to see him try to reject help from</i> all <i>of us.</i></p><p>The kid needed more people in his corner, and Gil was damn proud that they were <i>his</i> people.</p>
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